“Rose? Was it? I don’t know. Anyhow, we’re all agreed. You are to have a sum of money, child; yes, for your father’s sake, and perhaps for your own too, a sum of money to bring you in a little income for your clothes and pleasures, so that you shall be independent like the rest of us. Yes, it’s settled. I’ve written to our lawyer, James Batty. Did your father ever mention James Batty? But, of course, he wouldn’t. He married a fat woman, too, but a good soul, with a high colour, poor thing. Don’t say a word, child. You must be independent. Nursing! Bah! And if we don’t take care we shall have you marrying for a home.”
“This is your home,” Sophia said gently.
“No sentiment, Sophia, please. You’re making the child cry. The Malletts don’t marry, Henrietta. Look at us, as happy as the day is long, with all the fun and none of the trouble. We’ve been terrible flirts, Sophia and I. Rose is different, but at least she hasn’t married. The three Miss Malletts of Nelson Lodge! Now there are four of us, and you must keep up our reputation.”
Overwhelmed by this generosity, by this kindness, Henrietta did not know what to say. She murmured something about her mother’s wish that she should earn her living, but Caroline scouted the idea, and Sophia, putting her white hand on one of Henrietta’s, assured her that her dear mother would be glad for her child to have the comforts of a home.
“I’m not used to them,” Henrietta said. “I’ve always taken care of people. I shan’t know what to do.”
They would find plenty for her to do; there were many gaieties in Radstowe and she would be welcomed everywhere. “And now about your clothes,” Caroline repeated. “You are wearing black, of course. Well, black can be very pretty, very French. Look at Rose. She rarely wears anything else, but when Sophia and I were about your age, she used to wear blue and I wore pink, or the other way round.”
“You do so still,” Rose remarked.
“A pink muslin,” Caroline went on in a sort of ecstasy, “a Leghorn hat wreathed with pink roses—when was I wearing that, Sophia?”
“Last summer,” Rose said dryly.
“So I was,” Caroline agreed in a matter-of-fact voice. “Now, Henrietta. Get a piece of paper and a pencil, Sophia, and we’ll make a list.”